


Sebastian drabbles and ficlets

by cullenlovesmen



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Don’t copy to another site, Elthina Critical, Gen, I LOVE HIM VERY MUCH, Minor Sebhawke (gender neutral) in chapter 3, Mostly Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2020-10-17 15:06:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20623034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cullenlovesmen/pseuds/cullenlovesmen
Summary: A collection of (mostly gen) drabbles and ficlets starring Sebastian Vael. Relevant themes are in the chapter names.





	1. Angst, future Prince!Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a five-sentence prompt fill, but I broke down the sentences for easier reading. While this drabble is shipless, I imagine it's in the same world state as my longfic [A Love Long Lost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18465400/chapters/43747984).

Beyond the hill lies Starkhaven - he can hear the rush of the waterfalls, can almost feel the river’s dew misting on his face. The cold stone that’s settled at the pit of his stomach nudges a touch deeper: he could still turn back, choose a life of contemplation and menial tasks. The easy way, the life he knows. 

He jogs up the hill, curious of what he’ll find, and pauses at the highest point, letting the wind from the moors tousle his hair as he observes the city below. It’s a vantage point he’s rarely had, but from what he remembers, Starkhaven looks exactly as his memory has depicted it. 

Oh, but what a false impression that is; the Fort holds no family, its corridors are echoing with footsteps of strangers while treacherous tongues speak the words of command - _everything _has changed. He shivers as sweat dries on his skin, closing his eyes as he inclines his head and prays: oh, Maker, why must this fall upon _him_; is there no other path? But the Maker stays silent, so he takes a step towards the city, the taste of bile sickening in his mouth as he walks.


	2. Angst, Elthina critical, young Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "SEBASTIAN + BREAKFAST. FIC, HEADCANON, WHATEVER YOU FANCY. JUST.... BREAKBASTIAN. WITH OR WITHOUT COMPANY."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a sad fill. Sebastian has been in the Chantry for a year at this point.

Elthina has a specific smile that says “thank you, but it is time for you to disappear.”

It is on her face now that Sebastian is done serving the Mothers and Sisters their breakfast. The dining hall tables carry many a dish he has worked on since before the first rays of dawn, and he suppresses a yawn now he is finished. Water breaks out in his eyes because of the effort, and he takes a step back, joining the line on the wall, settling next to Brother George. He ducks his head; it is time to meld into the grey stones behind him and wait for his turn.

If he thinks on it a little, it is not too different here than how it was at home; Father, too, expected obedience and invisibility from him - and it was as impossible to satisfy his wishes as it is to please Elthina, but for different reasons. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, clasping his hands in front of his hips; were he to cross his arms on his chest, he would be seen again and earn a scathing look from the Grand Cleric.

He has learnt not all attention is desirable. That is one of the things that are different here; a mere year ago his spine tingled upon the prospect of being yelled at - for being seen at all was a miracle - but now his spirit deflates upon any signs of disapproval. It is better to focus on prayer and fulfill his tasks, rather than leave space for commentary.

The meal continues as the women chatter and eat at a leisurely pace. Boisterous laughter carries from the table of young Lay-Sisters, but he doesn’t turn to look. He resists the urge to press his hands flat on his stomach, but the churn of hunger is becoming quite obvious; it may attract Elthina’s eyes - those steely orbs that make him want to kneel and apologise before his crime is given voice.

He shuts his eyes and prays for the pangs to subside - at least until the Mothers and Sisters have gone, leaving them with whatever remains of breakfast. A quiet breath leaves him and he opens his eyes again; Lay-Sister Petrice stares at him with a peculiar expression on her face. She smirks and chews on her piece of bread with obvious enjoyment before turning away and poking Sister Mariah next to her: they both break out in muffled laughter, stealing glances at him.

Elthina doesn’t scold them. She dips her spoon in the soup and knits her brows, but only briefly.

Sebastian casts his gaze on the floor and bites his lip, shame burning hot on his cheeks. Was it he that annoyed her? Perhaps this is yet another thing he can’t succeed at; it seems that despite his best efforts, he can never truly turn invisible.


	3. Angst, Sebhawke, Elthina Critical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a look into the hold Elthina has on Sebastian, and how Sebastian sneaks to meet Hawke regardless.

A couple of more paces to the door; measured steps, a click and a push, and into the house where warmth lives. Feet draw to a halt before he’s there; he needs to be sure. A quick tug and his hood falls to the back of his neck; cool air licks the skin there as blue eyes scan the square, the night silent and streets lonely. 

Nobody’s there, and yet he fears grey eyes see him all the same; they’re steely, unsympathetic, perpetually disappointed – and everywhere, always watching. 

The knowledge weighs like a cold rock pressed against his heart, the condemnation a collar too tight on his neck. When will she tire for good and kick him to the streets? There is no explanation she would believe, much less understand.

In a pocket of his belt rests another weight; a piece of cloth that counters the strain; a flash of red with meaning beyond its simple existence. A closely guarded secret – not really a weight at all, but a treasure lighter than air itself. 

A shake of his head, a smile at the corner of his lip, and a couple of paces to the door. A click of the knob, a gentle push, and warmth meets skin as the house welcomes its nocturnal visitor. He settles his bow on the bench at the lobby while arms slip to his hips, and a body melds to his back. The counterweight in his pocket loses its function as the hold of the grey gaze loosens. 

A swift turn and he’s faced with eyes unlike the ones always watching; they’re warm, understanding, and infinitely accepting. It takes no coaxing to smile, no measuring to get the words right – not here, not in this house. 

A flash of grey flickers behind his closed lids. It’s there. It’s always there, keeping him in check – but perhaps tonight is not the night when that gaze follows him sneaking here. Perhaps tonight is not the night when his life cracks apart and crumbles. 

Perhaps once that night comes, Hawke will be there to hold him together.


	4. Angst, self-doubt, coping with being the Prince of Starkhaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Bane"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a five-sentence challenge. In other words, I had to write a mini fic that didn't exceed five sentences in length, and thus the punctuation is a bit strange.

It hangs on his head - ill-fitting; digging grooves to his forehead - and its weight is crushing; as though the patch of land under his feet, his domain, had been forged into this delicate form. How gracefully his father had borne it; how well it had traced the shape of his head; how responsibly he’d shouldered its weight.

But Sebastian isn’t meant for it, and yet… here he is, wearing it. 

He draws in a breath and looks up to the painted Andraste on the wall; she burns, forever defying the false rule of men, forever devoted to the will of the Maker – and, for the first time, Sebastian really understands. 

He sinks to his knees, folds his hands, and prays: “let my actions never be guided by greed or pride; let my power be an instrument of Your will – and let the diadem on my head never feel comfortable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos make my day! Come say hi on [Tumblr](https://sweetonsebastian.tumblr.com)!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments (of all shapes and sizes) and kudos always welcome; they make my day. <3


End file.
